


Makeout party

by anastasiapullingteeth



Series: Shenanigans [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4654848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastasiapullingteeth/pseuds/anastasiapullingteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly kisses Bahorel, Bahorel is kind of a dick, and Éponine salvages the situation. Or “emotional distress in the middle of a music tour”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Makeout party

**Author's Note:**

> So, I decided to give this fic another shot... I still don't like it but... ok. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Placed between chapter 4 and 5 of [Sweet Children](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1230613/chapters/2522758), but I guess it can be read as a stand-alone?
> 
> For [Sami](lifeofthewickedwitch.tumblr.com) (like all the fics in this series, lol).

“You’ll have to see a dentists, though.” Feuilly said, wiping Bahorel’s chin and lower lip with a wet cloth.

“Is it that bad?”

“You have a missing tooth, how bad do you think it is?”

Bahorel didn’t answer. Since Grantaire had stormed out of the back room in the  _XFINITY Theatre_  a few hours ago, he hadn’t said much. There was a lot of tension between them, particularly those in the other bus. Éponine was completely out of her mind, trying to locate Grantaire; it took Cosette a good twenty minutes to calm her down. The bus was completely silent, apart from Feuilly’s and Bahorel’s voices in the back, where they were sitting face to face in one of the big couches. Bahorel’s cut lip was still bleeding a little, and Feuilly hadn’t let him go to sleep until it stopped. He moved to press the wet cloth gently over the cut, but stopped mid-motion when the other man lowered his eyes.

Feuilly took the chance to look at his features. His squared jaw and perfect nose were bruised, and the cut on his lower lip was dangerously close to the shining piercing the man wore proudly; it was a miracle the little piece of metal was still in place (Feuilly shuddered at the thought). When Bahorel lifted his head, fixing his eyes with his in a questioning look for the sudden stop, Feuilly felt a shudder running down his backbone; he tilted his head and tried to kiss Bahorel, but the drummer moved away, frowning. Neither of them said a word.

He’d been wanting to kiss him for a long time and he thought… After a moment of awkward silence, Feuilly tried again, hesitantly leaning over him until their noses were inches apart. Bahorel stayed there, frozen, the frown on his face deeper than before. When their lips met, however, he kissed him back, nipping at his lip lightly before pulling away.

Feuilly cupped Bahorel’s face between his hands, asking him to look up. The pupils of the drummer’s eyes were dilated and his eyelashes so impossibly long, but what Feuilly noticed wasn’t that. Was, by the other hand, the way he looked at him: hungrily, trying to focus on his eyes, even though his gaze kept diverting a little lower.

Feuilly interpreted that as an invitation, joining their lips again, causing a wince of pain in the other man, due to force of the contact over his injured lip. Bahorel brushed his fingertips over his hips, letting him know it was okay to keep going.

Feuilly took the hem of Bahorel’s tank top and pulled at it until it came off. He couldn’t stop kissing him, tracing the expand of his bare chest with trembling fingers, feeling his strong muscles flexing beneath him and muffling the moans the other man was letting out with his own lips.

Bahorel slid a callous hand under his t-shirt, pressing his finger on the soft skin on his sides with so much strength, Feuilly was sure he’d had bruises there the next day. The drummer pulled away just enough to take Feuilly’s shirt off and throw it away, allowing the ex-fan maker to straddled him, pushing him down against the couch, at the time he placed open mouthed kisses in his collar bone.

“They can hear us,” Feuilly whispered, biting back a gasp when the larger man grazed the lobe of his ear with his teeth.

“Then we better put on a good show.”

Bahorel slid a hand down Feuilly’s back and into his jeans, cupping his ass and squeezing lightly. Feuilly muffled a moan in his own hand, pressing his body more firmly against Bahorel’s, rolling his hips to rub the drummer. But when Bahorel began to lower his jeans to have better access, Feuilly suddenly remember where they were. He lifted his body, supporting his weight on his hands at each side of Bahorel’s head, and looked around.

The couch where they were laying on was partially covered from sight by a big wardrobe where they keep extra blankets and pillows, people on the front of the bus had to get out of their bunks and walk a big portion before they could see them; if they were careful, especially if they keep it quiet, they could get away with it unnoticed.

“Fuck it,” he whispered, helping Bahorel out of his tight jeans, enough to free his hardness, as he observed him mesmerized.

Maybe they wouldn’t be able to do everything - it was too messy, giving the circumstances - but he was determined to make him cum either way. He pulled his own pants half way down, along with his boxers, and straddled Bahorel the best he could. The drummer smirked, running his hands up Feuilly’s thighs, digging his fingers in his hip bones when he lowered down to kiss him again.

Feuilly lay down, flushed against him, rocking his hips in time with Bahorel’s small thrusts. The pace fastened, until they both where panting and moaning, so Feuilly took both their members and rubbed them together. He had to force himself to withdraw his mouth away from Bahorel and tuck his head in the junction between his neck and shoulder, where he bit at to muffle a particularly loud moan.

Bahorel let go of his hair for a moment and, in a second, a wet finger was running down Feuilly’s lower back, between his ass cheeks, until it reached his entrance. He pushed his finger inside him, and that was enough to send Feuilly over the edge. Bahorel kissed him hard, moving his finger in and out, as his thrusts became erratic, stronger. He came no long after, digging his teeth in Feuilly’s earlobe, and wrapping his arms around his waist, until they could catch their breath.

After a quick cleaning of the evidence, they walked back to their bunks in silence. They didn’t kiss goodnight.

 

***

 

Bahorel spent the whole ride to New Jersey trying to avoid Feuilly and act nonchalant about it. But as soon as they reached the amphitheater, he could not longer hide his concern very well. He sat in the back of the room on a discarded baffle, away from the group, staring down at his hands as if they held in the mysteries of the universe.

This wasn’t the first time he was with a man, far from it, actually, he’d even fucked Grantaire that one time, but it’d felt different with Feuilly. Bahorel has been flirting with him since the tour began, because wow, he wanted to tap that, but never thought his moves would get him anywhere. Feuilly didn’t look like the kind of guy that would be interested in someone like Bahorel -if it wasn’t for all the drama around Enjolras and Grantaire, he would’ve sworn there was something going on between him and the blond musician-, that was why he’d been so taken aback the night before when Feuilly tried to kiss him.

He wasn’t sure what had happened and couldn’t stop thinking about it, not only in a sexy way, but also in a what-the-actual-fuck-was-that kind of way. Bahorel wouldn’t say he was a free spirit above the strings of commitment, it was only that he rarely,  _very, very rarely_  felt that kind of connection with someone; maybe once in his whole life, and it had happened again the night before.

At that point he was moving a leg nervously over the edge of a near box, and that’d been what prompted Cosette to approach him. She sat next to him, her hands resting on the baffle at each side of her hips. She tilted her heard to have a better look at Bahorel’s face.

“He’ll come back,” she said, reassuringly.

“What?” the drummer asked, a bit startled by the girl’s voice.

“Grantaire, he’ll come back any time soon.”

“Oh, yeah, I hope so.”

To be completely honest, Bahorel didn’t even remember his bandmate was lost and that they had to go on stage in half an hour. To his defence, he was kinda panicking a bit about the incident with Feuilly, but yeah, now that Cosette mentioned it, he should try to contact Grantaire, like everyone else was doing. He pulled out his cellphone and resend the same message he’d wrote hours before. He saw Cosette smiling next to him.

“You weren’t thinking about that, were you?”

“Of course I was!” he defended himself.

“Okay… But if you need to talk about something, I’m here.” After he nodded, she patted his knee and walked away to where Éponine was opening the door to let in a disheveled Grantaire.

As Bahorel watched Jehan punching his best friend with a force that no one would believe it came from that tiny body, he thought that maybe he was just needy of a bit of human contact. When had been the last time he’d slept with someone? Like, three months? That was a lot, he was horny, that was all, he only needed to find release and he’ll be fine.

He jumped on stage with a single thought in mind: to find a good partner for that night.

 

***

 

As soon as the concert was over, Bahorel approached a large group of fans gathered outside the amphitheater, followed by Courfeyrac and Jehan. They signed some autographs, took pictures with the fans, and hugged a lot of people. Bahorel wandered his eyes around the crowd; he’d always been popular with the fans and, it their first years, that’d gotten him in some troubles, particularly with Éponine, who found it completely unprofessional. But desperate times call for desperate measures, so he spotted a girl on the back of the group and carefully slipped to her.

She was almost as tall as him, hair in a side cut and dyed pink at the ends, and denim jacket full of studs; his kind of girl. Although she look excited to be there, she wasn’t at the verge of tears or shaking like the rest of the girls, that’d been why he thought it was best to try something with her; he was being jerk, and self-aware of it, but even he had his limits and would never take advantage of a girl’s love and admiration for his band.

They exchanged a few words and before Bahorel could process what was going on, she had him pinned down against a wall in a far alley, devouring his mouth as he squeezed her ass; classy. He turned them around, shoving his leg between her thighs, and supporting his weight with a hand on the wall behind her. She smirked, biting his lip and pulling at the piercing with her teeth. Everything was fuzzy in Bahorel’s head; he could only feel her hands on his shoulders and his around her waist.

“They say you’re the best fuck in the band, let’s see if it’s true,” she said, undoing the button of his jeans and pulling down the zipper.

“Sure, I love all that myth buster shit.”

He drove his hand inside her blouse and cupped her breast. As she began to gasp in his ear, Bahorel felt a pull of guilt in his stomach; what was he doing? He liked Feuilly. And Feuilly liked him back, didn’t he? He should be doing this with him… no? His train of thought was soon interrupted when the girl, Melissa, thrust her hand inside Bahorel’s pants, wrapped her fingers around his dick, and stroked it.

“So here you are,” said a voice near them and they both stopped short.

Éponine was standing at the other side of the alley, arms crossed and lips pursed. Behind her were Musichetta and Feuilly; she with worry over her face, he with a disgusted frown. Well,shit…

They tried to compose themselves as fast as they could. When the clothes were in place, Musichetta immediately went to talk with Melissa while Bahorel approached Éponine and Feuilly. Éponine was furious, that was evident, but Feuilly only cocked an eyebrow when he saw him coming. “Well, you find him”, he said. “I’m going back to the bus. Try not to kill him, there’s a band over there that needs a drummer.” He walked away, without looking back.

“I have a feeling of  _déjà vu_  here, don’t you?” she asked with an edge in her voice.

“Look, I-”

“Look, I don’t care,”  she mocked him. “We’d had this conversation before, Bahorel. You can go and sleep with your fans, I thought I’d made myself clear on that.”

“Stop acting like my mother, for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh, no. If I was your mother you wouldn’t be doing all this bullshit.”

Bahorel rolled his eyes. Behind them, he could see Melissa walking away with Musichetta. She smiled at him, blew him a kiss, and waved goodbye. Bahorel turned around again to face Éponine; she was even angrier than before. “What’s all the fuss about, anyway? You got here on time, nothing happened, okay? Just let it go already.”

Éponine laughed humorlessly. “I’m not the one you should be worrying about. And next time you decide to fuck one of your friends, make sure everyone in the bus is asleep beforehand. Poor Marius.” She watched him go all red and smiled satisfied, then added. “Now go back there, Musichetta and I need to clean your mess.”

He came back dragging his feet. A part of him was happy Éponine got there and interrupted them; the other part was incredibly frustrated. He approached Feuilly as soon as he saw him, knowing he should apologize. “Ah… Listen, uh…”

“She caught you, uh?” Feuilly interrupted. Bahorel nodded and tried again, bt the other man didn’t let him. “Don’t worry, okay? What happened yesterday was… we were just fooling around. So it’s okay.”

“But we-”

“No, no, it’s fine, We can keep it casual, no strings attached and all that.” Feuilly said, waving a hand. “I think I’ll go to sleep, it’s been a long day. Good night Bahorel.”

That’d been worse than Bahorel had expected, but he knew he deserved it.

 

***

 

**California - A few months later**

 

Feuilly walked past Enjolras office at Red&Black Records and had to go back on his own steps when he saw something, or rather  _someone_ , that was completely out of place.

Bahorel was sitting across from the blond, waving his hands with excitement while talking about something that Feuilly didn’t manage to grasp. Enjolras smiled softly, arms folded over the desk and shoulders relaxed like… well, like he never was. Ever. Feuilly knocked on the open door and lifted a hand to greet both men.

“Oh, hello there.” Bahorel said looking over his shoulder; his arms were open wide in mid motion, encompassing his entire body. “Well, Enj. I’m afraid you’ll have to hear the rest of the story some other time. Duty calls.”

“Duty?” Feuilly asked, a little surprised that Enjolras actually looked disappointed.

“Yeah, babe, I don’t want you to get all jealous because I’m here talking with your boss when I could be with you.”

Enjolras frowned and a few seconds later - more than what it would’ve taken anybody else but a new record for him - he said “Oh! Yeah, yeah. It’s okay, Bahorel. We can talk later. If Feuilly doesn’t mind, of course.”

“What?”

“Sure. See you later, chief. Come on, big boy.”

“I don’t understand what happened there.” Feuilly asked, stopping Bahorel in the hallway, a few steps away from Enjolras’ office.

“What you mean?”

But then, everything made sense. “Holy fuck! Enjolras- Enjolras thinks we’re dating, doesn’t he? Why does he think we’re dating?!”

After the incident with that girl, Feuilly and Bahorel had fallen into a kind of handsy friendship, for call it something. They hadn’t had sex again, but touched each other quite often in not so platonic ways. Feuilly had decided to put aside what he felt, or thought he felt, and just accepted that was how Bahorel was. It meant nothing. But, judging by the way Bahorel was looking at him, he was missing something important here.

Bahorel looked at him with a pained expression, dark eyes full with uncertainty. “We’re… we’re not?” Feuilly gaped at him, thinking that maybe he’d heard him wrong. However, Bahorel shrugged it off with a wave of his hand. “I mean, pfft, of course we’re not dating. Where did you get that from, dude?”

“Wait, did you thought we…”

“No! Come on, we just fucked, right? It didn’t mean anything. Though, if you wanna do it again, I’m up for it. Ha, d'you get it?  _Up_  for it.”

“I thought you didn’t want to? You seemed a little reluctant back then. And the girl…” he trailed off.

“Yeah, no. I was… Is that a yes?”

“Let’s say… it’s a ‘maybe’.”

Bahorel narrowed his eyes before tackling him unexpectedly. They both landed on the floor with a thud that caught Enjolras’ attention; the blond poked his head out of his door, stared at them for a second, and went back inside. Feuilly was grateful he didn’t get to see what Bahorel was doing with the hand clenched beneath his lower back.


End file.
